


Five Times Clint Held A Baby (And One Time He Didn't)

by coffeejunkii



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Cuddling & Snuggling, Getting Together, M/M, Meet Steve Rogers the baby whisperer, Phil Coulson doubts his sanity, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-08 03:20:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1127739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeejunkii/pseuds/coffeejunkii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watching Clint with a baby in his arms does funny things to Phil's insides.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Clint Held A Baby (And One Time He Didn't)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chaneen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaneen/gifts).



> This story is the result of two sets of pictures of Jeremy Renner and Clark Gregg snuggling babies ([here](http://bliss116.tumblr.com/post/45438430538/littleblueartist-remember-that-time-when-renner) and [here](http://distilleryimage9.ak.instagram.com/de3788e6ad0211e28ad722000a9f1498_7.jpg)). Cue subsequent brainstorming with Chaneen and here we are.
> 
> Many thanks to my beta Rurounihime, to 17Pansies for baby advice, to Nerdwegian for baby name suggestions, and to my Twitter list for being enthusiastic about babyfic.

1.

Phil has to admit that Clint was right to drag him away from the latest Avengers mission report. It's a beautiful fall day in Central Park—the leaves are just beginning to turn and the sun is warm enough to make a jacket unnecessary. The reports will still be there when he returns to his office at the Tower. Besides, the Bus is heading out on a transatlantic flight tomorrow. Perfect for paperwork.

Phil is about to thank Clint for his intervention when he sees a young woman holding a baby approaching them. He nudges Clint, who turns away from the sight of Bethesda Fountain below them. “Think we've got company.”

Clint frowns, then sees the woman, who stops a few feet away from them. The frown disappears.

“Hi. Um, sorry to bother you.” The woman is clearly nervous. “Hawkeye, right? I was wondering—this is really stupid...”

“How can I help you?” Clint asks. He's put on his public smile and is making an effort to look welcoming.

Phil credits Pepper's PR lessons.

The woman steps closer. “If it's not too much trouble, would you take a picture with Jamie?” She nods at the baby. “I'm Sara, by the way.”

Clint's shoulders tense and he darts a look at Phil. “I don't really know anything—”

“He doesn't bite.” Sara shifts Jamie, getting ready for a handover.

When Clint shoots him another desperate look, Phil gives him a nod.

“Uh, okay.” Clint holds out his arms.

Sara places Jamie into them, tugging at Clint's hands and arms until the baby is cradled in the crook of his shoulder. Jamie's wearing a Hulk T-shirt and is tugging at his ear. “Perfect.” 

Phil has to agree. It's a rather good look on Clint. He's tempted to take out his phone to get a picture for himself, but that would be strange.

Sara gets into position to take the picture when Jamie gurgles at Clint and grabs his T-shirt. “Aww, he likes you!”

Clint looks stunned. He rubs his thumb over the back of Jamie's hand, smiling hesitantly.

Phil barely holds back an adoring sigh. Hopefully Sara wants to take a few photos so Phil can enjoy the sight a little longer.

It takes Sara a good two minutes to find the perfect shot. At first she takes a close-up, then backs away for a few full-figure shots, and finally kneels down. She checks each image after she takes it, fiddling with the settings. “Thank you so much!” She collects Jamie. “Do you mind if I post this to Instagram?” She turns the phone toward Clint.

“I guess not...”

“That would be fine,” Phil affirms. It's a good picture; Phil should tell Pepper about it for the official Avengers Facebook page. The photo will probably go viral anyway.

Sara shoots Phil an 'and who are you?' look and beams at Clint. “Great! I'll be off. Have an awesome day!” She walks away with an enthusiastic wave.

When she's out of earshot, Clint leans close to Phil. “That was okay, right? I mean, I didn't drop the baby.”

Phil's heart rate is twice its normal speed. At least. “You were great.”

“Yeah?” Clint tugs at the edge of his T-shirt. “God, where is Steve when you need him?”

Steve has turned into the resident Avengers baby snuggler, for which everyone on the team is rather grateful, and Steve doesn't mind. “It was a Steve-worthy performance.”

“You're just saying that,” Clint mumbles, but looks pleased.

“C'mon, I'll buy you one of those rocket-shaped ice cream bars.” Phil starts walking toward a cart on the other side of the terrace.

Clint grins and falls into step.

 

2.

Early morning grocery runs aren't Phil's favorite way of starting the day, but they're out of Pop-Tarts and Thor is visiting. Clint's urgent texts roused Phil from deep sleep at 7:30am, a time he would normally be awake if he hadn't spent the last week in Australia. He didn't even have time to shave or put in his contacts; no wonder Clint looked at him oddly when they met up in the entryway to the Tower's guest quarters.

Phil watches Clint pile box after box of Pop-Tarts into the cart. He's so distracted by the way Clint's sweater rides up and his bicep becomes particularly defined when reaching for the top shelf that he doesn't notice they're no longer alone in the cereal aisle.

When a small voice calls out “Up!” from next to Clint's leg, both their heads whip around. Clint almost drops a box on the toddler's head. A little girl with messy braids and big green eyes tugs at Clint's pant leg and once again demands, “Up!”

Clint stares at her.

Phil bites back a smile. “I think she wants to be picked up.” 

“I—but—should I? I mean, she's not my kid, and what if her parents get mad?”

Phil takes in the frown on the little girl's face. “If you don't want to have a full-blown tantrum on your hands, I suggest we deal with the consequences later.”

Clint's eyes widen at the word 'tantrum.' He tosses the Pop-Tarts into the cart and bends to pick up the girl,settling her on his hip. “Hi there.”

“Hi!” She pops a finger in her mouth. She chews on it for a moment, then pokes Clint's cheek with impressive speed.

Phil readies himself for an intervention, but Clint merely wipes the back of his hand across his cheek. “So, do you belong to anyone?”

The girl flings her arms around Clint's neck and snuggles close. 

“Um.” Clint pats her back. He looks terrified.

“We—” The word comes out hoarse. Phil clears his throat. “We should find out who she belongs to.” He tries not to stare, but it's difficult because the girl's hair is about the same shade as Clint's and she seems happy enough in his arms, almost as if she often seeks refuge there.

“Yes. Let's do that.” 

They leave the cart behind. Clint holds onto their charge with both arms, secure enough to make sure she doesn't slip away and careful enough to give her plenty of room. Phil almost runs into a display of canned pumpkin.

The girl's mom is profuse in her gratitude when they locate her at the deli counter, where she's frantically asking about a little blonde girl. When Clint comes into her line of sight, she runs over, taking her daughter from him. She hugs and kisses her little girl, running her hands across her arms and down her body. She holds her daughter close until she begins to squirm, demanding to be set down. Her wish is granted, but her hand remains firmly clasped by her mother. “She's in that phase where she loves running around all the time and testing her boundaries. I swear I'd turned my back for only a second.” The woman's eyes move back and forth between Clint and Phil. “Normally, she isn't good with strangers. Do you have kids of your own?”

Phil's cheeks heat at the suggestion that he and Clint have children together. 

“Uhh, no.” Clint scuffs his foot against the tile.

“Ah, well, you have time,” the woman says.

It's neither the first time that they've been mistaken for a couple, nor is it the first time they haven't bothered to correct that assumption. 

3.

Phil flicks through files as he walks past the common area on the way to his office. The sight he catches out of the corner of his eye arrests his steps: Clint and Steve are talking, and each of them is holding a baby. Infants, really; neither of them can be more than a few weeks old.

“...depends on how old they are.” Steve finishes what sounds like a long-winded explanation. “Oh, I've also noticed that they like hearing your voice. Especially if they're really little. So if you hold them like this—” Steve gently shifts the baby until its head rests against his chest. “And then you talk quietly or hum or sing, that usually keeps them happy.” 

Clint's attention is entirely on Steve, nodding along to his advice. The second baby is casually but securely tucked into one of Clint's arms, legs and feet dangling over the palm of his hand. It seems happy to be held by Clint if the kicking feet are any indication. The baby is wearing a striped yellow onesie with a sun embroidered on it; the other baby—Phil suspects twins—is in a matching outfit, blue stripes with a moon.

Phil clutches his files to his chest in a pathetic need to have something to hold on to. He likes children just fine, especially his little niece, but apparently Clint holding babies does weird things to his insides. 

When Clint spots Phil, he sends a warm smile his way. Phil is smiling back before he can help himself. He walks over.

“Hi!” Steve seems exceedingly happy to see him. Phil still hasn't entirely worked out why his presence should cause any excitement, but at least it doesn't throw him off anymore.

“Hey.” Clint's greeting is quieter, but no less happy. It causes a pang in Phil's chest.

“I was suggesting a few things I've picked up over the years,” Steve explains. “Seems like people have been approaching Clint with their children recently.”

“There have been a few encounters,” Phil affirms.

Clint shrugs. “Figured I should learn from the best when the opportunity presented itself.”

Steve beams. “I was looking after these two when Clint came down for lunch. Jane came into the office today to catch up with Pepper about the new lab. She's not technically off maternity leave yet, but I guess some things can't wait.” Steve points at the baby in Clint's arms. “That's Reidun. And this is Torbjørn. I may not have pronounced these names correctly.”

Phil realizes that he's supposed to respond in some way to this introduction. “They are...tiny.”

Steve laughs. “That they are.” Turning to Clint, he says, “Why don't you try what I showed you?”

This is probably Phil's clue to leave, but he finds moving rather difficult when Clint is so careful with Reidun. Of course Phil knows that Clint can deploy his strength with great care and is capable of the lightest of touches, but seeing Clint handling a baby is different from seeing him with his bow (or explosives or walls that are about to collapse or setting broken bones in the field).

“Like this?” Reidun is tucked under Clint's chin, gently held in place by both arms. A tiny hand curls into the collar of his T-shirt.

“Yes. She'll probably fall asleep on you if you don't put her down in the next few minutes.”

Clint brushes a hand over Reidun's head. “I don't mind. Could use a nap myself.”

Phil's hold on his folders tightens at the thought of Clint napping with a baby. He notices that Reidun's sweater has ridden up, and reaches out to tug it back into place. His hand lingers a little longer than necessary.

Clint brushes his fingers over the back of Phil's hand. “Thanks.”

Phil's loath to let go, but the sweater is as securely tucked into place as it could be. “No problem.”

Torbjørn starts fussing in Steve's arms. “Looks like someone needs a fresh diaper.” Steve picks up the bag sitting on the couch. “Excuse me.” 

Clint wrinkles his nose as Steve heads out. “I'm not doing that.”

“Doesn't it come with the territory?” Phil teases.

“Look, it's not my kid. That means I don't have to deal with the shitty aspects. Um, literally, in this case.”

Phil smiles. “Fair enough.” 

Clint nods at the files. “Headed to your office?”

“I was, yes.”

“You could work here if you want some company.” Clint leans his cheek against Reidun's head. “We can be quiet.”

“I—” Phil knows that he won't get much done if he stays in the same room, but he can't find a good reason to turn Clint down. “Why not.”

Phil settles on the couch and arranges his files. He's just double-checking some expense reports, which he should be able to do even with half of his attention on Clint. His eyes keep being drawn to the other side of the room where Clint sways back and forth, humming quietly. Reidun's fallen asleep, and Clint's eyes have closed as well. Phil can tell by Clint's alert posture that he's fully awake, however, registering exactly what is happening around him. It's not the kind of tense alertness that takes a hold of Clint in the field, however. It's protective, and Clint doesn't seem entirely aware that he's doing it.

A fierce and desperate longing slams into Phil. He can't look away even after Clint opens his eyes again. Clint looks back at him, his eyes lit up with a quiet happiness. Phil tries to squash down everything he feels for Clint, but isn't entirely certain he succeeds. If Clint notices, he doesn't seem to care. He holds Phil's gaze before turning away slowly, eyes closing once more. The humming and swaying resumes, and Phil gives up on his work.

4.

Phil spots Clint as he shoulders his way out of a half-collapsed building. There are SHIELD agents running into Phil's path, trying to secure the site now that the last mutated bat has been taken down. Phil only gets another clear look at Clint when he's almost in front of him.

“Your jacket,” Clint yells. “I need your jacket!”

He's holding something to his chest. Phil shrugs off his down parka and holds it out to Clint, who grabs it as soon as he's close enough. Phil realizes that he's holding a baby wrapped in a thin towel. The baby is alternating between hiccups and whimpers.

“Thanks. Help me with her?”

They do their best to swaddle the baby in the parka. Clint lifts her against his chest and rocks her back and forth.

“Should I call the medics?” Phil asks.

Clint shakes his head. “I think she's fine. Just cold and scared.”

Phil leans in closer. Big eyes look back at him. The tear tracks on the little girl's face make his heart clench. She has dust in her hair and across her cheeks. Phil is about to rub it away, but Clint's already tugging off his shooting glove with his teeth.

He's exceedingly gentle when he brushes away the dust and soot. “There. That's better.”

Phil squeezes Clint's shoulder. “What about you? Are you okay?”

“Just the usual. Some cuts and bruises. I'm fine.”

He looks fine, and Phil trusts him to share any serious injuries. He raises his walkie-talkie. “I'll call her in. Hopefully her parents made it out, too.”

Clint nods and holds the baby a little tighter. 

“Why don't you go sit in one of the vans while we wait?”

“Okay, yeah, good idea.”

Phil makes sure that everyone knows that Clint found a baby girl and then directs the clean-up and recovery effort until a working system is in place. With nothing else to do for the moment, he walks over to the van. The back doors are open, which probably means that Clint sat down on the floor to have a better view of the site, just in case. 

The singing makes Phil slow down. He's never heard Clint sing before. He has a beautiful voice, steady and strong even though he's singing quietly. It sounds like classic rock; Springsteen, maybe. Phil would stop and listen, but Clint is surely aware of his presence already. He comes around the back of the van, pleased when Clint doesn't stop until he's finished the verse.

“Figured that might calm her,” Clint mumbles. He's still holding the baby close, her head resting over his heart. She's snagged one of the clasps of Clint's uniform.

Phil sits down beside him. “I think it worked.”

“Any word on her parents?”

“Not yet.”

Her parents turn up thirty minutes later, looking a little the worse for wear. They both tear up at having their baby girl back safe and sound. Clint's embarrassment at having so much gratitude heaped upon him is palpable. Phil rests his hand on the small of Clint's back, and Clint shoots him a look of relief. 

It's the middle of the night by the time they catch a SHIELD chopper back to the nearest base. It's just the two of them, but they're sitting next to each other regardless. Phil is grateful for the warmth and Clint's grounding presence. It's been a long day.

“I'll never have kids,” Clint says, a waver in his voice.

Phil blinks away the sleepiness that had taken a hold. It's a rare personal admission—one to which Clint obviously expects an answer or he wouldn't have shared it. “Why not?”

“I'm not with anyone and I have a job that puts me in life-threatening situations on a regular basis. No one's ever going to trust me with a kid under those circumstances.”

Those are the exact reasons why Phil has never seriously considered having children, but it nevertheless hurts to hear them from Clint. Especially when Phil didn't expect Clint to want a family. “Circumstances change.”

Clint leans a little heavier against Phil. “Not for me, I don't think. Don't want to give up the job, for one.”

And not giving up the job—or at least scaling back field work significantly—makes a relationship more or less impossible, at least with someone outside of SHIELD. Phil learned that the hard way. He turns, angling his body in such a way that Clint leans more against his chest than his shoulder. 

Clint slouches lower on the bench and curls into the shelter of Phil's body. His hand hovers over Phil's forearm, barely touching him. “Is this okay?” he whispers.

“Yes. Of course.” As if he could deny Clint anything. 

5.

Halfway through the tour of the orphanage, Phil realizes that Clint has gone missing. It's not a surprise. Having come along on these PR events on many occasions, Phil knows that Clint isn't interested in learning the details of the various programs offered for the children or the placement rates. He only comes along because he wants to interact with the kids. He leaves the official duty of representing the team to Steve, who, naturally, excels at it.

Phil finds Clint in the playroom for the younger children. He's sitting in a corner, a little boy of about two in his lap. They're playing with wooden blocks. The boy is trying to fit them into a box that has different shapes cut out of its walls. Clint has one arm loosely wrapped around the boy's side, making sure he doesn't slide off his lap, and is talking quietly to him, suggesting this block and that.

“Come join us,” Clint calls out softly. 

Phil briefly considers wrinkles and dust, but he's across the room before he finishes the thought. He sits down across from Clint.

“This is Tom. Tom, do you want to say hi to my friend Phil?” Tom turns his face into Clint's shoulder instead. “He's a little shy.”

The black suit probably isn't helping. Clint's in jeans and a hoodie, which makes him much more approachable. Phil picks up a red triangle. “Want to try this?” 

Tom hesitates, but takes the block from Phil and tries to jam it into a square hole. Clint lets him try a few more before nudging him toward the right one.

“Good job!” Clint ruffles Tom's hair. “Let's try this green one next.”

Clint's good at this. He's patient while Tom tries the same hole again and again, but also knows to intervene when frustration shows on Tom's face. Throughout their game, Clint makes sure that Tom knows he has Clint's full attention. It upsets Phil that Clint is convinced he'll never have these kinds of moments with children of his own; anyone who gets to see Clint interact with kids would realize he'd be a great parent.

They continue until all the blocks are in the box. Clint opens it, turns it upside down, and they start again, Phil and Clint handing Tom the blocks. They've nearly filled the box again when Steve and the orphanage staff enter the room. 

“Time to leave?” Clint whispers while the orphanage director goes on about the educational value of various play-sets.

Phil checks his watch. “Just about.”

“Yeah, I figured.” Sadness flickers in Clint's eyes, but when he turns to Tom, his voice is light. “Hey buddy, think you can finish this without me?” Tom looks uncertain. “I—I have to go now, but this was fun, right?” When Clint tries to slide Tom off his lap, he presses himself to Clint. “Aww, I know, I wish I didn't have to go, either.” He wraps both his arms around Tom.

It just about breaks Phil's heart. It's not the first time he's witnessed a moment like this. Clint always tries to spend time with a child or two during these visits. Even though Clint has never explained his motivations, Phil figures that Clint is trying to provide something he never or rarely had during his childhood. Knowing that only makes these goodbyes worse.

The director calls out from across the room, “Could we get a picture with Hawkeye?”

“In a minute,” Phil replies and stands.

Clint follows suit, Tom still in his arms. “I really have to go now.” He tries to tug Tom's arms away from his neck, but he only gets a fierce “No!” and hiccupped sniffles in response. Clint looks to Phil for help.

Phil has no idea what to do—he's certainly not going to try to pry Tom away from Clint.

A staff member steps closer. “I'm so sorry, Tom gets attached really easily.” 

“I don't mind,” Clint says hastily. “He's a good kid.”

“Okay, Tom, time to say goodbye,” the woman instructs. She reaches around his waist, lifting him out of Clint's arms. A loud wail erupts from Tom, who tries to grasp onto the hood of Clint's sweatshirt, but is expertly untangled. “Sorry about that,” the staffer says and hastens out of the room. Tom's sobs echo down the hall.

Clint looks stricken.

Phil sees the director approach and turns to her with a sharp, “Not now.” He steps in front of Clint, shielding him from view.

The woman halts.

Steve comes up to them. “I'm happy to take a few more pictures, perhaps with the older kids?”

The director looks mollified and begins making suggestions about where and with whom. Phil sends a grateful nod in Steve's direction before turning to Clint.

“Can I please leave?” Clint asks softly. He's hunched in on himself and looks about five seconds away from bolting.

Phil moves closer. He wants to gather Clint into his arms, or take his hand. He allows himself a brief squeeze of Clint's arm. “Of course. Do you want me to call a car for you?”

“No, I'll walk.” Clint's eyes are bright. He wipes an unsteady hand across them. “Thanks.” He pulls the hood over his head and slips from the room.

Late that evening, JARVIS interrupts Phil's _Top Chef_ marathon. “Agent Barton is outside, sir.” 

Phil pauses the DVR and opens the door.

Clint's already in pajamas and the messy state of his hair suggests he may have tossed and turned in bed before coming over.

“Hey,” Phil says.

“Sorry, I know it's late, but...” 

“Come in.”

Clint walks inside. His eyes dart across the room—a habitual check of his surroundings—and he stops. Normally, he would have flung himself down on Phil's couch, grabbed the remote, or rifled through his fridge. But now he stands in the middle of the living room, the slump in his shoulders evident.

Phil decides to throw caution to the wind. He can't watch Clint beat himself up like that. He walks over and slowly reaches for his hip, giving Clint enough time to pull away. He doesn't. When Phil holds out his other arm in invitation, Clint moves into the embrace without hesitation. He holds on tight, and Phil winds both his arms around him.

“Door's always open for you,” Phil whispers. 

Clint sighs and tucks his face into Phil's neck. 

They settle on the couch, close enough to touch. Phil resumes _Top Chef_. Clint slumps against him, but refrains from the usual commentary about the stupidity of a contestant choosing frozen shrimp or making risotto.

Half an episode later, Clint says, “It's fucking unfair.”

Phil lowers the volume. “I know. You could go back. Maybe make regular visits.”

“No. That's worse. He'd get more attached and he'll wonder—it's not a good idea. It's not fair to him.”

Phil turns his head. Clint's hair brushes his cheek. “It's not fair to you, either.”

“'s not about me.”

Phil wants to point out how this is very much about him and the pain he feels during those visits, but he doubts that Clint wants to hear about that. “You're good with kids, you know.”

Clint shrugs.

“You are.”

Clint doesn't say anything in return, but Phil can feel his smile against his shoulder. It makes him want to look up New York's adoption laws.

They get through two more episodes before Phil's eyelids start to droop. He turns off the TV. To his surprise, Clint is still awake when he would have been out like a light during any other TV marathon. It makes Phil worry about his state of mind. “You can stay if you want.” It's a somewhat ridiculous offer considering Clint lives a floor away, but Phil has the impression that Clint doesn't want to be alone and wouldn't ask if he can stay.

Clint sits up straight and stretches his arms above his head. Phil's eyes linger on his shoulders, for once not caring if Clint notices.

“Thank you,” Clint mumbles. “I'll be fine on the couch if you give me a blanket.”

The offer is endearing. If they were on a mission and found themselves somewhere with an actual bed, Clint wouldn't have suggested the couch. Rather, Phil would have had to shove a sprawling Clint out of the way to lay claim to a spot on the bed.

“Bed's big enough for both of us. Come on.” Phil doesn't check if Clint is following him as he heads into the bedroom and starts stripping down.

Clint moves past him and has burrowed under the comforter by the time Phil slips into bed. Once he has settled in, Clint's fingers curl around his wrist from across the respectable space between them.

God, they are both stupid. “I'm not going to kick you out of bed if you come closer.”

Clint rolls over into Phil's side. They shuffle limbs until they've found a comfortable position, with Clint curled around Phil. It's even nicer than Phil had imagined; Clint's warmth envelops him, and the slow in and out of Clint's breathing lulls him into a doze.

Phil thinks he can feel the press of lips, but that might be his imagination.

+1

Ever since Phil issued him a blanket invitation to his quarters, JARVIS lets Clint in without a previous announcement. This is how Clint finds himself standing just inside Phil's door, rooted to the spot by the sight of Phil on the couch, eyes closed and one hand curled protectively over the baby sleeping on his chest.

Clint has to look away. His fingers tighten into fists to push down the shudder of want flashing through him. He wants—everything, really, everything he can have with Phil. To share his bed, his life, his dreams, all the stupid and unattainable things they can't have: peace, happiness, kids. God, kids with Phil—

“Clint?” Phil blinks, sleep-hazy, a frown forming.

Clint is done with all the unrequited pining bullshit between them. He's across the room in three steps and kneels down next to the couch. He makes it plenty clear what his intentions are as he leans in, but Phil doesn't turn away. His lips are soft and welcoming.

“Um, hi,” Clint mumbles as he pulls back.

“Hi.” Phil's mouth curves, one of those barely-there smiles that lights up his eyes. “That was unexpected, but not unwelcome.”

Clint scratches the back of his neck. “Good. I figured it's about time.”

“I'd invite a repeat performance, but we do have company.” Phil looks down at the baby, still soundly asleep.

“Your niece?” Clint recalls Phil mentioning that his sister and her husband were in town for a few days.

“Yes. Lucy. I offered to babysit while they do the tourist thing.”

Clint nudges one of her small fists with his finger. “Lucky girl.”

“Want to come up?” Phil wiggles closer to the back of the couch. “There's room.”

The free space does look big enough, thanks to the ridiculous oversized furniture courtesy of Tony. Clint climbs onto the cushions and stretches out, turning on his side, facing Phil. “Lift your legs.” Phil follows the instructions, lowering them over Clint's drawn-up knees. Uncertain about what to do with his arms, Clint stretches one out between him and Phil. He loops the other across Phil's body, taking care not to squash Lucy's feet.

“Actually, would you mind holding onto her? My arm's sort of asleep.” Phil lifts his hand off her back and stretches his arm over his head.

“Sure, I can, um. Yeah.” Clint gently settles his hand. “Seems like she's a champion sleeper.”

“She is. Her parents are delighted.” Phil's fingers slide between Clint's, tangling them. He bumps their clasped hands against Clint's thigh. “So, what made you decide that it was time to do something about...”

“Us?”

Phil hums.

Clint swipes his thumb over Lucy's shoulder. “Seeing you with her.”

Phil laughs. “I know what that feels like.”

“Huh?”

Phil shifts, bringing them closer. “All those times I saw you with a baby. I told you that you were good with kids. I may have neglected to tell you that I very much enjoyed those moments.”

Clint never noticed. Well, he did; he isn't blind. He knows the way Phil looks at him, but he wouldn't have thought that him interacting with kids would have any impact. “Did it feel like your heart was about to burst out of your chest?”

“Sounds about right.” Phil folds his hand over Clint's where it rests on Lucy's back. “Isn't that weird?”

“Probably some leftover primal instinct.” Or in Clint's case the fact that he's been in love with Phil for more than a few years.

Phil traces his fingertips over Clint's knuckles. Tingles sweep all the way down Clint's arm. “So, I may have done some Googling,” Phil says. “About adoption laws. In New York. Because I was thinking of what you said. It's legal for gay individuals and gay couples to adopt.”

It's nice to know that. Not that he really expected otherwise, but Clint has never bothered to look up any legislation. The idea alone seems impossibly out of reach.

“Just something to keep in mind. For the future.”

Clint tries not to fidget. “Future?”

“Well.” Phil squeezes Clint's hand. “Speaking hypothetically, at some point down the road, maybe it could be our future. I realize this is far-fetched considering that there isn't really an 'us' yet, but—”

“Phil.” Clint is glad he's lying down already. “Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yeah. To all of that. To that future.”

“In that case...” Phil turns his head and nuzzles Clint. “Kiss me again.”

Clint doesn't have to be told twice.

(end.)


End file.
